Universe & U
by OnceUponAShipper
Summary: Emma Swan & Regina Mills have been friends for years- since being in the foster care system together. They've seen each other through everything. When Emma got pregnant, it was Regina who adopted the baby. Now, in their mid-30's, the women are successful, mature beings... except when they're not. Could it be there's more than just a friendship...? AU SwanQueen, set in NYC.
1. A Rough Night

**A/N **- Hello, dearies! Here's the story I mentioned earlier. I've been working on this for several weeks now, and I've got a few chapters written. I'll post them after I've proof read them obsessively. It's a little different than my usual stories, but I hope you all like it! Let me know what you think so far! Enjoy!

* * *

It was late in the evening, Emma knew, but it was a tradition. Every night at exactly seven o'clock, she dropped by Regina and Henry's apartment, stayed there for half an hour, found delight in Henry's infectious laughter, listened to him talk about his day at school, and then said goodnight to the pair. But tonight, work kept her out until half after ten, right as the full moon reached its highest peak in the starry sky. So, Emma ran. She ran like her life depended on it. She carried her Target-bought, midnight-black high heels in one hand and her Salvation Army-found clutch in the other as she sprinted through the jam-packed city. Over the white-painted lines and through the busy intersections, Usain Bolt had nothing on Emma Swan. Passerby gawked at the athletically built blonde who barreled through the masses in a skin-tight, olive dress; her bare knees were exposed and her loose curls were windblown, almost as if the breeze were a natural hair straightener.

At the very end of Cobble Hill, Emma slowed to a steady jog and ignored the steady jabs in her ankles. The hustle and bustle of New York City wasn't enough to distract her from the finish line she envisioned. Ambulance and police sirens wailed through the already loud attractions eastward, followed by the blaring and barking of a firetruck. Just three more blocks, and Emma would arrive at her destination.

In total, it had taken the bail bondswoman under half an hour. 17 streets, 210 businesses, and 42 honking cars later, she'd made it; she'd arrived at Regina Mills' classy loft. The question was, would she open the door for the blonde? Or would she make Emma wait in agony until the next night to resume the ritual?

Emma rang the buzzer and counted how many times it chimed before an irritated tenant picked up. "You're late," the resident stately flatly. There was no static in the speaker, as Regina's apartment was quite upscale and had a reputation to preserve. There wasn't even one piece of trash anywhere near the entrance.

"Please, I'll just be a sec," Emma begged, her feet aching terribly from her strenuous journey.

"He's asleep," the bodiless voice informed.

"I promise, I'll be quick. Regina, please?" Emma waited in misery for an eternity before she heard the lock un-click. Without any hesitation, she yanked the door open and bounded up the four flights of stairs with the last bit of energy she had in her. She took the stairs by threes, although her knees pleaded for her to slow down.

"Five minutes," Regina said as she let Emma into her home. "He's got school in the morning." In her lavender, silk pajamas, the brunette's arms were folded firmly over her chest and hypnotic eyes were narrowed at her friend, who frankly had looked better in the past.

"Thanks, you rock!" Emma whispered, already curving past the glass dining room table and tiptoeing down the wooden floorboard in the hallway. It was the first door on the right, she could never forget.

Although she couldn't see him, she could hear Henry's breathing, soft and steady. The moonlight from his half-closed window streamed in through the thin curtains and fell upon his calm face; his messy, brown hair pressed against his forehead as he laid with his cheek on his pillow. Blue, striped blankets were pulled over his shoulders and tucked tightly under his chin, as if it were the only thing that kept him rooted to the earth. His sneakers and school shoes were organized neatly on the small shelf Emma had nailed next to the closet when he was four years-old, right over the silver walls she'd painted when he was six. In fact, most, if not all of the decorations in his room were either built or created by the woman; they were some of the fondest memories she held.

With the agility of a cheetah, Emma stalked the edge of Henry's mattress and lowered her lips until she was less than an inch from his forehead. As carefully as she could, she kissed his smooth skin. When she stood tall again, Henry flopped onto his other side, his back to Emma.

Straight down the corridor, around the beige, concrete counter, and over Regina's briefcase, Emma reentered the kitchen/living room. Her friend had gathered two glasses and a bottle of wine, and waited the circular table. Sitting in one of the black chairs, Regina motioned for Emma to do the same. "Just because Henry's asleep, doesn't mean I am," she said. "Come, sit down. Let's hear the latest chapter in Emma Swan's adventures."

Realizing she was still holding onto her shoes, Emma took one look at the setting and cracked a smile. She galumphed to the seat across the brunette, tossed her deathtrap-choice of footwear onto the carpet, and fell back in exhaustion. Regina was already pouring her a drink. "You would not believe the night I had," she exhaled. She took three serious swigs of the red substance and waited for the burning sensation to kick in before going on. "This guy, I swear to God, is one of the worst scumbags out there. Three ex-wives, seven kids, two Ferraris, and four homes. Been extorting loads of money for at least a decade. This asshole—" Emma caught herself and glanced around the room for any sign of Henry (Regina forbade Emma to swear around him). When she didn't see him, the blonde went on with her story. "This asshole has the nerve to miss his court date twice— twice!— claiming he was 'incapacitated with the flu.'" Leaning in for extra emphasis, Emma finished with, "That bastard spent his days at the golf course!"

"No?" Regina gasped with a hand over her chest, as if she'd just been given the juiciest piece of gossip. Of course, Emma knew it was all for show. "Well, did you arrest him?"

"Gina," Emma scoffed condescendingly, "I don't have the power to do that. But, if I did, he'd have felt more than just the metal on his wrists. The only reason I got here so late it because that pathetic wimp blended in with the rest of Times Square. I had him, too."

"You chased him all the way to Times Square?" Regina wowed, genuinely amazed at the woman's tenacity.

Emma shrugged as if it and been a walk in the park. "Sometimes you gotta do whatcha gotta do," she recited in a terrible De Niro impression. She grabbed something from her purse and waved it in the air; it was small and folded in half, and it looked like buckskin. "I'd like to see him get home without any cash or credit cards, though. He took a taxi to dinner." The two women shared in light laughter, comfortably nursing their liquid relaxer. "What about you? How was a day in the life of a newspaper editor?"

"You know, same as always; research this, contact that person, retract this, headline that," Regina rattled off with a tiresome wave of her wrist. When she shifted even a centimeter, the reflective material caught the overhead light. "No rest for the weary," she said with mock martyrdom.

"Is that old guy still being a creep? That- what's his name- Sidney… uh, I know it," Emma snapped her fingers, "Glass?" She set her elbow on the table and rested her head on her closed hand as she listened to Regina.

"Thankfully no. He's on vacation this week. If only it was the rest of his life."

"What about you? How are you doing?"

As if Regina didn't know what Emma was referring to, she picked the lint off of her shirt complacently. "I'm just fine, dear." That word— "dear"— always brought back dark memories for the woman, and as hard as she tried, she couldn't remove it from her vocabulary. It was as engrained in her mind as it was to say "thank you" and "you're welcome."

Letting Regina's lie slide for now, Emma set down her empty glass and resisted the desire to pour another. She had to be sober enough to make her way her home. After a few seconds went by, she sat up again and put on a somber facade. "And Henry? Did he have a good day?" Regina waited just a nanosecond too long because Emma immediately jumped on her. "What happened?"

While her friend may have had to trek back to her own apartment, Regina was already meters away from her bed; she refilled her drink. "Oh, you know, it's that same student at his school. He tried bothering Henry again today." She attempted to sound as casual as possible because she knew Emma would flip out if she were anything but. "It's all settled, dear; it was worked it out."

"Yeah, that's what you said last time. I thought private school was supposed to weed out the bullies."

"In theory," Regina remarked smoothly. She swirled her wine in a circular motion, the way she'd learned that "sophisticated beings" did— training from her mother. The digital clock over the stove lit up as it hit the halfway mark between the hours; it flashed in time to the angry horns and rogue police cars just outside the window. Regina saw it through her peripheral vision and gave little thought to it, but Emma had a perfect view of the alarm. The usual yearning in her eyes returned as she realized her was her cue to go, the same grievous shivers she got whenever she had to leave rolled down her neck. Regina caught her friend of 22 years stretching her legs in anticipation to stand up and felt bad for the blonde; she couldn't imagine having to leave her son every night, not like this. But, alas, it was the arrangement.

Emma put her cup in the spotless sink without making any sort of sound and slid her aching feet back into her pumps. It was like walking on a gravel road barefoot, the way her toes pinched together and the uneven ground arched her limbs unnaturally. She flipped her her hair seamlessly over her shoulder, a maneuver Regina was secretly jealous of, and smiled graciously at her host. "Thanks for bending the rule," she said as she hugged the tired mother, silently cursing herself for being so tardy. "It won't happen again, I swear."

"It better not," Regina warned. "Henry enjoys his time with you."

Emma's heart rate quickened in pace at the very thought of Henry saying such a thing. It wasn't as if she figured Henry hated her or anything, but it was a big deal. He was a big deal. Emma curled her fingers around the cold, metal doorknob and began to twist it when a new thought formed in her head. She kept her hand around the lever and glanced back just enough for her voice not to be swallowed by the wall. "Hey, tomorrow's Friday… I heard there's a new movie coming out for kids Henry's age. You think you'd up for that?"

"What is it rated?"

"R," Emma jested. In times of anxiety, she used humor as a coping mechanism, or so her therapist had said. "It's PG, Gina. I checked."

With a heavy sigh, Regina gave in without a fight— but only because it was so late. "Very well. We'll talk before then."

"Very well," Emma replied in her best impersonation of Regina. "See you tomorrow." Regina waited in the finely furnished hallway until she heard the creaking of the front door and retreated back into her and Henry's apartment for the night. After that, Emma was on her own.

Outside, the temperature had dropped several degrees and Emma's legs weren't exactly feeling the love. Then again, neither were her bare shoulders. This is about the time of night when the sketchy folks come crawling out of their shadows and caves and faced the evening rush. Homeless beggars, stoned hipsters, drunk fools, and pushy hustlers emerged from the unknown and lined the streets, all to watch innocent people walk past. They were used to being ignored by everyone else, no matter how obnoxious or assertive they were. Their heckling was reciprocated with the usual middle finger or complete disregard of their existence.

Neon lights hung in restaurant windows and steam rose from the sewer grates in the middle of the street. Hundreds of yellow taxi cabs zoomed by Emma, who was too cheap to hail her own. She didn't live very far from the Mills's; it was a 25 minute walk at the most, 35 in high heels. Fortunately for Emma, she wasn't easily frightened by the nighttime characters, no matter how aggressive they got. She realized she had her job to thank for that; she faced enough sexist, arrogant, disgusting people every day of her life. A few shifty individuals at night didn't exactly scare her. Thinking about, there wasn't much that scared her at all.

As she crossed over to her block, finally, Emma unlocked her handbag and started rummaging for her keys. She'd packed them in there somewhere next to her mirror and pepper spray, but under her pocket knife. Or did she leave that at home and bring her switch blade instead? When it came to self-defense, Emma didn't mess around.

With every concrete apartment that she had passed, her legs felt heavier and heavier. Few residents were still awake at midnight on a Thursday. Porch lights had been shut off, except for Emma's, which served as a beacon of hope for the exhausted bail bondswoman. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had such a long day at work.

It took her three tries to walk up the five steps to her front door, which was pathetic, she knew. She was just glad no one had witnessed such a misfortune. She was well aware of how it looked: a healthy, vibrant, 30 year-old, unable to climb a tiny set of stairs. Unlike Regina's place, crumpled fast-food containers and empty beer bottles lined the sidewalks, remnants of careless litterers. Aged gum was splattered across the cement and cigarette butts had been rubbed into the cracks. There was a faint scent of french fries that lingered in the air, whereas Regina's complex smelled like Chanel No. 5 and Champaign.

When she finally reached the invisible finish line and stuck the key in the hole, she leaned against the solid surface for a good 14 seconds before peeling herself off. Emma twisted the handle and almost fell face-first onto the sneaker-scuffed, linoleum floor. She'd never been more appreciative of the creaky elevators in the eight years she'd resided there than she was right then.

Emma's own living situation was vasty different than Regina and Henry's. For one thing, she didn't have a dining room table because she preferred to eat on the couch. Her kitchen counters were a mess, covered in microwave dinner boxes and empty Pepsi cans. Her carpet wasn't as immaculately stainless as Regina's with a few drops of grape juice here and there. What Emma considered to be the living room was really just a futon pressed against the wall, a television set on the floor, and its wires bunched up behind it. And most importantly, there were two bedrooms in the apartment: one for her, and one she used for guests, which didn't happen very often. There was no teenaged boy inhabiting the last room on the left, no posters of Green Day and the Rolling Stones, no school uniforms folded on a bed with blue, no striped blankets, and no shelf with sneakers and school shoes. There wasn't even a closet. The room was filled with boxes of the things Emma had yet to unpack from her move almost a decade ago.

Kicking off her shoes for real this time, Emma drifted through her home like a zombie and undressed as she made her way to her bed. Her entire ensemble had been shed by the time she slid under the covers, not caring enough to brush her teeth or tie her hair up. She let the cotton sheets become her nest for the remainder of the night; her entire body melted into the foam mattress as if she were making a snow angel. The covers clung to her slim form as if static ran through her limbs and hugged her like a companion. As she flopped onto her other side, she saw the pulsating glow from behind the shades and knew it was the moon- the same moon that was looking after Henry. Closing her eyes and settling into the fetal position, Emma drifted away to the tune she'd learned in foster care as a child: _"I see the moon and the moon sees me, the moon sees the somebody I want to see. So God bless the moon and God bless me, and God bless the somebody I want to see." _After repeating it several times, Emma finally let go of the day's hardships and anxieties and gave into what her body was begging her to do: sleep. The next morning would come soon enough and so would her night with Henry. But, sometimes, soon enough felt like forever.


	2. A New York Minute

**A/N** - Wow! Already 49 follows! I think that's the fastest any of my stories has gotten that much attention! Thanks, dearies! Since so many people seemed to like the first chapter, here's the second! I have a ton of time to write now that my CC classes are over, which I'll spend on these two stories; however, how soon I update will be another issue. I've really been working on improving my proof reading skills before I upload something. I've changed a little in this fic- some characters have different connections to others, but I hope you're ok with that. There is a lot going on in this one, and still more to come! Thanks for the enthusiasm, folks! Enjoy!

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Fridays were usually relatively low-key at the paper. It wasn't calm, by any means, but the frantic aura lessened as the week came to a close and the weekend took its place. Phones rang off the hook, faxes were being sent in a dozen a second, voices shouted across the room and over one another, and the clacking of keyboard keys all contributed to the buzz of the workplace. This _was_ a calm day at the office.

Regina was thankful for her job; as the editor, she got her own room. The best part of it all: it had a door. She was free to shut out the wild zoo of the fifth floor and concentrate on the items on her own check list. The small enclosure came with a cherry wood desk with four drawers and silver handles— two on each side— a plush, black, leather chair on six wheels, and an enviable view of the Manhattan city skyline. With a window that stretched from one wall to the other and the shades pulled back, Regina could spend hours marveling at the picture-perfect scene. From way up high, she felt like a queen on a throne, looking down at a kingdom of life-addicted, fast-moving souls. Thousands of people crowded the streets and shoved past one another, seemingly unaware of the audience they had in other buildings. Always on the go, they never even slowed down to eat.

Other than multicolored folders stacked neatly on her desk and a cup for pens and pencils, Regina had several pictures of Henry. The three frames were arranged in a nearly straight line: in a the middle was a photograph of Henry's first birthday with a shiny, bronze frame. A toddler with chubby, rosy red cheeks and pink lips, Emma had stuck a birthday hat on his nearly bald head; the string squished his baby fat and gave him an extra chin. He sat on Regina's lap with white icing smeared over his face and on his green jumper, in a state of total bliss. What had previously been a dinosaur-themed dessert was now just a heap of frosting.

On the left sat a picture of Henry's first day at school; he clasped the straps of his blue backpack with only one pouch and wore an eager smile, his two front teeth missing. Henry had insisted in grown his hair out for his first day, which Regina reluctantly agreed to. It looked as if he had a mop on his head in the shape of a bowl, barely leaving room for his green eyes to shine. The school uniform of a navy polo and khaki pants had been complimented by Henry's choice of heart-stopping orange socks. Regina had tried to convince him to wear plain white, but he was firm. Henry won that round.

And, on the right, turned inward slightly, was a picture of Regina, Henry, and Emma from a Chuck E. Cheese photo booth; the kind that snaps the image and then sketches it out as if it were a hand drawn portrait. It was relatively recent, too. Less than a year ago. It was a rare occasion that Regina took Henry to those germ-ridden play centers, but for some reason she couldn't fully recall, she'd relented. She wasn't sure who was more excited, Emma or Henry. He had just a handful of tokens left and begged his mom and Emma to join him in front of the camera. Emma was game, but it took Regina a little longer to come around. Henry placed himself in-between the women, both of whom were taller than him… for now. With a fresh haircut, his side-sweeping bangs hugged his forehead. All three of them were smiling, honestly and truly. "Two friends and a kid," Emma had titled it. Henry would only learn the true meaning later.

Some days, when her minions were all running around in circles, Regina just sat back and closed her eyes. She drowned out the muffled gurgling of the rushed journalists without any music, just her own willpower, and she thought. She never slept like some people might; she believed it was an abuse of power. Regina let her mind wander off. More often than not, Henry was all that she imagined: his happiness, the years of him needing a mom that were left, his ascent into adulthood. She thought of how he treated everyone with kindness, no matter who they were or what they'd done in their past. She thought of the way he always had a story to tell, whether it was real or something he'd come up with on his own— always the creative one.

Just as she began contemplating Henry's relationship with Emma, Regina was shaken out of her daydream by a sharp knocking on the door. Belle, Regina's secretary and a candidate as a potential editor for the literary pages, was frowning through the glass window. A petite woman with a heavy Australian accent and bold red curls, she stuck her head in and gently called to her boss. "Regina?"

Spinning in her chair, the brunette fluffed her hair absentmindedly. "Yes?"

"It's Henry's school," Belle said after biting down on her lower lip. "The headmistress's office called."

Quicker than a flash of lightning, and quieter than a mouse, Regina snatched up her purse and was gone before anyone even noticed. The headmistress had only ever called once before. Regina had a sinking feeling she knew what this was about and one thing was definite: Emma wasn't going to handle well.

* * *

Because Emma failed to snag her target, she didn't get rewarded the full price. She was fairly certain that the entire agency had been informed of her rare misfortune, but once was enough to lose confidence in their most sought after employee. The moment she stepped into the concrete building, squished between a pizza parlor and a nail salon, it was as though Emma was consciously walking through a ring of fire.

Ruby, a fellow bondswoman, was rifling through the mailboxes, searching for her parcels. There weren't many of them at that particular agency, nine or ten. Due to unexplained reasons, the company had lost three of their main powerhouses. As a result, Emma and Ruby had to step up their game, which was difficult being the only two women there. The office was oozing with misogyny and bravado, all of it a dank haze. It was like high school all over again.

Emma plopped her messenger bag on the counter and got on her tiptoes to reach her box. She was convinced that her boss had assigned her the slot on purpose. Hiding under sunglasses and her honey-colored twists, Emma kept her head low. Ruby struggled not to laugh at her friend's getup, especially when the woman was trying so hard to retrieve her mail. "Here, lemme," she said once she'd stopped taking pleasure in Emma's efforts. With ease and one arm movement, Red pulled out a pile of envelopes and handed them to the blonde.

"Thanks," her coworker sighed, already pawing through the junk. "So, how bad is it?"

"Emma Swan!" a gruff man called from the end of the hall.

Emma cringed as if she'd just heard nails on a chalkboard and exchanged a knowing look with Ruby. "If I'm not out in 10 minutes, save yourself," she warned. She stuffed her papers in her backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and carefully walked down the tarnished gray carpet. In her years working with the company, the matting had never once been replaced. Chinese food, sodas of all flavors and consistencies, ramen noodles, and hamburger juices had been spilled onto the floor. It was just something everyone had gotten used to.

His office was the second on the right and the door was already open. The man's name was printed on his door in bronze lettering: Mr. Gold. No one really knew his first name, as he requested to be addressed by his last. A man in his mid fifties, Mr. Gold was just a hair shorter than Emma. He had a salt and pepper mane that touched his shoulders, a shiny bronze cap amongst his crooked teeth, and interesting inflections. Some would guess he was Scottish, others not so much. Mr. Gold walked with a limp; an old war injury, he'd said. He was a rather mysterious man, rough around the edges, but at least he wasn't an axe murderer.

Mr. Gold was waiting behind his desk, his fingers drumming his chin. He gestured for Emma to take the plastic chair across from him, which she did without saying anything. She'd seen the faces of coworkers who had gotten "The Talk," and she and Ruby had always made fun of them. Now, she _was_ one of those coworkers, and nothing seemed funny right now.

Twisting the head of his cane, Mr. Gold narrowed his eyes at his representative as if he were still deciding her punishment. "I hear you had quite the night, dearie," he started. Emma got goosebumps the way he said "dearie," as if he knew her well enough to do so. "Before I give you my verdict, why don't you try explaining to me just what happened exactly."

With her knee bouncing up and down, Emma wrung her hands in her lap and told herself not to show any signs of her nervousness. "It sounds like you've already made up your mind. I doubt anything I've got will change it."

"Try," the boss challenged. The way he spoke with his hands was enough to creep out Frankenstein.

"He got away," Emma said simply. "He dipped out of the restaurant and dove into Times Square. It was impossible to find him." Mr. Gold couldn't have looked any more unimpressed or unamused. If anything, he looked as if he were about to fall asleep. "But," Emma remembered, "I did grab this." She dug into her canvas bag, retrieved the man's wallet, and showed it off like a prize she'd won in poker. "At least we know which house he probably lives in. I could always go on a stakeout or something."

"That won't be necessary, though I applaud your enthusiasm," Mr. Gold responded slowly. "Emma, you know I don't enjoy this sort of thing, especially to you, but rules are rules. I'm sorry, dearie, but—"

Emma's phone suddenly cried out and cut off her boss. It took forever for her to find it and right as she was about to ignore whoever it was, she read the caller ID. "Uh, sorry, could you hold that thought for a sec?" Emma turned her head, "Gina? What? You've got to be kidding me. Fine, I'll be right there." She pressed the red button and stood up abruptly; Gold seemed insulted. "I'm sorry, it's my— my friend's kid. He's in trouble. Look, I got it: desk job for a week. No problem." She flew out of the stiff furniture and launched herself into the corridor.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mr. Gold wondered as he pushed himself onto his feet.

"I gotta go. Like I said, they need some help. But I'll right back, I swear. Please?" Emma put her hands together and pleaded with the stone figure; she even stuck her bottom lip out. When Mr. Gold's shoulders relaxed and he waved her off, she ran out of the door, shouting, "Thanks! I owe you one!"

* * *

Henry waited in his room with the door closed and locked, his knees hugged to his chest, and his back against the wall. His recently made up bed now had wrinkles in the sheets from when he jumped onto the mattress just moments before. It had been an unusually painful day for the teenager; actually, it was only half a day. After Regina talked with Ms. Ghorm, she'd decided to take him home for the remainder of the afternoon. He didn't object in the slightest, but then again, he was too embarrassed to say anything. Headmistress Ghorm had been the one to find him by the drinking fountain with a paper towel over his nose. The boys' bathrooms were all individual, and at the precise moment, they were all taken. He had nowhere else to go.

Regina had only looked at Henry for a millisecond before making the impulsive choice to excuse him from his classes. Out of everyone in their small family, she was the most adamant about his studies; she always reminded him that homework came before video games and that books were more educational than the television. She made sure that he never missed a day of school unless it was absolutely, positively necessary. This was one of those rare times.

When they stepped foot into their flat, and Henry rushed to his room, Regina called Emma and let her know what had happened. In an effort to protect both Henry and Emma's pride, she'd waited until she'd talked to Ms. Ghorm before contacting the blonde. She knew how Emma could be; she knew her friend would have demanded the complete roster for the school and would have scoured the halls and classes. But Emma wasn't Henry's mother; Regina was, and it was up to her where to go from here.

In the twenty minutes it took for Emma to get there, Regina tried knocking on her son's door several times. She pressed her ear and palms against the solid, wooden wall and spoke cautiously. "Henry, dear, you're not in trouble. I know you didn't do anything wrong." All that she got in return was the loudest silence she had ever endured. She wished, more than anything, that she could make the problem go away with a flick of her wrist— that there was some magical solution. But, she knew this wasn't a scraped knee on a four year-old: she couldn't kiss the booboo to make it better. Henry was a young adult now and felt things on a level Regina seemed to have forgotten. Raging hormones and the constant judgement from his peers all swirled together into a cocktail called adolescence, for which their was no antidote.

The doorbell chimed through the soundless apartment several dozen times before Regina pushed the button, and it took just seconds for Emma to appear at the door. "Where is he?" she asked as soon as she saw the brunette, welcoming herself into the home.

"Emma, wait," Regina warned. She grabbed her friend's elbow as the blonde readied herself to barrel down the hall. Her green eyes were crazed with a yearning for answers, for revenge. Regina had only ever seen that look twice in their entire friendship and she didn't particularly enjoy reliving it. "Relax," she commanded gently, her hands out as if she were surrendering. "Remember, he's just mortified as any other kid his age would be. Don't make it any worse." As though she hadn't heard anything Regina just said, Emma took a few heavy steps, but the mother caught her one more time with a tighter grip. "I mean it, Emma. This isn't like when we were younger; this is Henry, not us."

Knowing all too well what Regina was alluding to, Emma snatched snatched her arm out of the businesswoman's hold, strutted down the aisle way, and planted herself firmly in front of Henry's shutoff room. She mimicked Regina's actions and listened for a moment before tapping on the door. "Kid?"

Henry's ears perked up at Emma's voice, like an excited puppy. However, that excitement rapidly dwindled when he realized that she knew. Regina had already told her. That's why Emma was here so early. "Go away!" he shouted, though his words were muffled by the sleeves of his school-mandated blazer. The clapping of Regina's heels against their hardwood floors signaled Henry that both women were outside, waiting with their own worried expressions; he could already see his mother's creased forehead and furrowed brow, the way she folded her hands in front of her and crossed her left leg over her right. And, he knew that Emma had one knee bent slightly and was grinding her teeth the way Regina nagged her about. Their heavy breathing permeated through the crack under his door and climbed through his room until it reached his ears. The suspense was killing all of them.

Finally, when he knew that neither of them were actually going to leave, Henry clambered off of his bed, smoothed his jacket, and walked towards the gateway to his overbearing mom and wild "aunt." As soon as he peeked through, Emma knocked it down the rest of the way using all of her weight. "Holy shit!" she cried when she saw the blue and purple bruising on the bridge of Henry's nose. The blood had all been cleaned up, but the swelling was not as easy to hide. Emma reached for Henry's injury, but he turned his head before she could touch him.

In this particular moment, Regina excused Emma's choice of words, as she shared the sentiments. "Henry, dear," the brunette began calmly, "why don't you tell us what happened, hm? Give us your side of the story."

The young man flopped on his mattress and juggled his football, the only way he could manage his jitters. Emma couldn't stop staring at his injury, and Henry's level of self-consciousness had hit a new high. If there was a rock he could crawl under or a cave he could retreat to, he would've done it in an instant. "It's nothing," he mumbled.

"Like hell it is! Who did that to you?!" Emma demanded. With every syllable, she grew louder and louder; her features went rigid, and her pupils shrunk into tiny, black pins. Believe it or not, this _was_ Emma being calm.

Ignoring the woman's histrionics, Regina took a seat beside her son. As a mother, she wanted to put her arm around his shoulders and pull him for a hug. But, as someone who'd been in a similar situation in the past, she knew it would only make things worse. "We know you didn't do anything wrong, dear. We'd just like to know how you got hurt, and then maybe we could talk to Ms. Ghorm and—"

"No!" Henry shouted as he dropped the ball. Immediately, he regretted his hasty response, as he knew this only increased their concern. Tapping his foot against the ground, Henry ran his hands up and down his thighs, drying the cold sweat off of his paws. "It- it was an accident," he tried to cover up. "I- I tripped on my way to class."

Emma folded her arms and squinted intensely at the boy. "That's not gonna fly. You know I can tell when people are lying."

"And you know that I don't tolerate lying in this household," Regina added authoritatively, her octave dropping several notes. When she noticed her son tense up at her severe tone, Regina mentally berated herself for intimidating him. Sometimes, she got so caught up in things, she couldn't realize it until it was too late. Carefully pulling his bangs of his eyes, she tilted his chin upwards until they were looking right at each other. "Henry, I promise that I will make sure this doesn't happen again, all right? No one at school will have to know that I said anything to the headmistress."

Finally understanding that it was what everyone else would say that bothered the boy, Emma let got of her own anger and sat on the other side of Henry. "You're not a snitch if you tell us, Kid. Reporting and tattling are two different things, you got it?"

Cornered by Regina and Emma, Henry had no choice but to tell them the truth. He was surrounded by the only family he had, and he'd never let himself forget if he didn't 'fess up. He'd been taught to always be honest, even if it was hard. Because, as the magnet on their refrigerator said, "The right thing isn't always the easy one."

Inhaling in preparation, Henry got up and started pacing in front of the women like a grown man before a meeting with a fortune five hundred company. He shrugged of his blazer and untucked his shirt; he ran his fingers through his thick, brown shag as if he were getting ready to recite a speech and Regina and Emma were the audience. "His name's Alexander Booth," he revealed reluctantly. "He's a year older than me… he usually just— just knocks my books down, but uh, today… it _was_ an accident… he didn't know I was standing there…"

"Go on," Regina encouraged.

Rolling up his sleeves, Henry prayed his mother would keep good on her oath. "He shoved another kid into the lockers and, um, he knocked him into mine… the door was open and it— it hit my nose… I swear, I didn't do anything." As if he'd just been cleared of any and all criminal charges, Henry let out a long, tired sigh and leaned against his wall.

"I'm sorry, dear, did you say Alexander Booth?" Regina inquired skeptically. Henry nodded passively, still reeling from his confession. "August Booth's son? I knew that name was familiar!" she exclaimed. At Emma and Henry's shared confusion, Regina clarified with exuberant gestures. "August Booth is our top political correspondent at the paper. He's mentioned a child several times, I just never knew he went to the same school. Booth wreaks of arrogance and unsolicited snide comments."

"So, you're like, his boss then, right?" Emma wondered eagerly. "You could mess with him?"

Before Regina could confirm or deny the blonde's wishful thinking, Henry cut in quickly. "No! Don't! You'll make it worse!" he huffed. "If Alex finds out I told—"

"Don't worry, dear," Regina soothed. She pat the empty seat Henry was previously in and waited until he calmed down again. "Mr. Booth and I will just have a little chat about work. Your situation will not be mentioned, I assure you."

Henry lifted his hand, "Pinky promise?"

Curling her smallest finger around his, Regina agreed sincerely. "Pink promise. Now, you can choose what you'd like to do from here. You can either return to class and finish out the day, or—"

"Or you can come to work with me," Emma offered casually. "You know, if your mom says it's ok."

Lighting up like a Christmas tree, Henry buzzed in his spot. "Can I? Please?"

* * *

Right on 127th street, there was a quaint little place called Granny's Diner. It was run by a woman named Mrs. Lucas, Ruby's grandmother. Yellow painted walls were covered in pictures of the owner and her granddaughter, and the shellacked wooden tables glinted under the sunlight from the windows. Emma and her parents met there every Monday and Friday, the beginning and the end of the week, and they always ordered the same things. Creatures of habit, they all were.

Mary Margaret and David Nolan were cuddled together in a tattered, navy, leather booth as they waited for Emma and Henry to arrive. She texted them ahead of time and gave them a heads up, as well as an abridged version of what happened. They were used to their daughter coming late to family functions. It'd become just another part of life for them. Emma was 16 years-old when they adopted her, a journey the 30-something couple had thought long and hard about embarking on. Their biological child had died as an infant, a tragedy they never let slip from their hearts. She'd been born several months premature, and as a result, had a multitude of health complications. She just hadn't been strong enough to overcome the obstacles ahead of her.

After waiting a few years, the Nolans felt ready to try again. This time, though, they went a different route. From the moment they saw Emma, they knew she was going to be a part of their family. She had Mary Margaret's chin and David's ears, the perfect combination. When the three of them met, Emma was all but receptive to the idea of becoming a unit. She had explicitly informed them that she didn't need parents, nor did she want them. She was "old enough" to watch out for herself, no matter what the law said. However, after she moved in with the couple and she'd allowed herself to trust them, Emma found that they had been exactly the kind of parents she'd always dreamt of. She was no longer an orphan; she was someone's daughter.

Now, nearly 15 years later, the family couldn't have been any closer. Their bond had only strengthened through the decade and a half, and none of them would trade their experiences for the world. They'd gone through things no one else could ever truly understand. No one would have ever guessed that they hadn't alway been together.

When the small bell over the door rang and Emma and Henry walked in, Mary Margaret and David lit up and waved at the duo. It wasn't often that they got to see the pre-teen, for obvious reasons. Every now and then Emma gave them status reports on the kid, filling them in on his school progress and his road to maturity. She'd show them pictures of Henry and gush about him like any other proud parent would. And, as much as they loved to see Emma so enthusiastic, they knew it wasn't enough.

"Hi Mrs. Nolan and Mr. Nolan," Henry piped with a shy smile. The ends of his red and gray scarf dangled by his knees as he strode down the small aisle, all the while praying no one would bring up the elephant in the room. He'd gotten enough stares on the sidewalk, he didn't need anymore.

"Hey kiddo," David greeted back, slightly pained at the formal titles. He felt his wife clutch his knee at the sight of Henry's puffy nose, but she said nothing.

"You two look cozy," Emma commented wryly. Henry slid into the bench, then the blonde. They fit together like two peas in a pod; not too much extra room, not too squished. Henry gave Emma a menu, though she didn't need it, and they both opened it at the same time. They even turned the page in unison. It was something Emma was conscious of and proud of, but at the same time, brought her the slightest bit of sorrow. Henry still didn't know that they shared more than just in-time mannerisms.

David kissed the top of Mary Margaret's head, which made Emma blush, and chuckled heartily. "It's cold out, I was just warming up." He'd been letting his sandy-brown hair to grow out just enough to comb to the side and his budding beard accompanied it nicely. At 50 years-old, he still had yet to show signs of gray hair, bags under his eyes, or a beer gut. David was giving the rest of the guys in his squad a run for their money.

Mary Margaret, on the other hand, was embracing her stripes. They lay embedded in her black, pixie-cut; the subtle layers weren't gray, per se, but more silver. The two tones blended together in harmony and made a lot of women in her book-club jealous. Her fare skin and blood-red lips, combined with her dimples and graceful laugh lines, all created the ultimate motherly look. "Always the charmer, your father," she chided with a light giggle. "How are you, Henry?"

"Ouch. Gonna skip over your own kid?" Emma teased.

"We saw you earlier, Emma. It's nothing personal," Mary Margaret winked. "It's been more than a few days since Henry's graced us with his company. So, young man, how goes it?"

Flushing at the implied compliment, Henry put away his list of meals and did his best to lay his feet shoes on the dirty floor. Just another half of an inch, and he'd reach it without any problems. "Um, it goes well?" he guessed, hoping he answered correctly.

Giggling quietly, the older woman went on. Steering clear of mentioning Regina's mother, Mary Margaret cheered, "That's wonderful! I heard you've been doing great in algebra. That's quite impressive."

"I couldn't even do algebra in high school," David remarked truthfully.

His cheeks now the color of a ripe tomato, Henry turned to Emma for support. He was never one to do well with praise. He felt as if he didn't deserve it; as if it were all just to make him feel better. He wanted to be acknowledged for a real feat, like inventing the next iPhone or something— not solving an algebraic equation.

"So," Emma took her cue, "Dad, how're things at the station?" Turning the focus to them always took the pressure off her, and she was sure it would do with same for Henry.

Not allowing David to respond, Mary Margaret spoke for him. "I'm still waiting for the day that he retires," she complained wistfully.

"I don't know why; I've still got another 10 years before they make me leave," the police chief said as he sipped his pitch-black coffee. "And I haven't gotten hit since '01."

"Yes, but that one 'hit' landed you in the hospital for a month, or don't you remember?" his wife countered promptly.

"Mary Margaret," David griped. "That was 10 years ago."

"But you still have that scar— it doesn't care how long ago it was."

"I told you, the chances of that happening again—"

"Anyway…" Emma cleared her throat, suddenly regretting bringing Henry along on a dysfunctional family lunch. He didn't seem to mind, though. He sat comfortably against the cushioned backing and observed the married couple innocently. Living in a one-parent household, this was something he wasn't accustomed to, yet something he didn't mind. To him, it was a bit entertaining. It was like watching a TV sitcom, but better. Emma had just over 30 minutes before she had to get back to work, which wasn't nearly enough time to sit through the couple bickering. "Guys? Hello?" she waved in front of them. "There's a kid present."

Completely unpracticed in censoring their mild squabbles, David and Snow lowered their voices into hushed tones and looked down like sad puppies. It'd been a while since they'd been around such young ears, and while they hadn't used any profanity or crude innuendos, they were rather ashamed of the way they'd spent today's visit with Henry. It wasn't the impression they wanted to leave on their only grandson.

Just then, a perky waitress landed before them, her high ponytail bouncing behind her. In a powder blue uniform and white apron, the name tag read Ella. Enchanting blue eyes and shiny golden hair with brown roots, the woman sported a growing bump beneath her smock. "Are you all ready to order?" she asked energetically, a notepad and pencil ready.

Emma glanced at her parents and then at Henry, who was still blissfully going with the flow. David and Mary Margaret were trying to hide behind their napkins, which was a sign that food would be a welcome distraction. Her awareness of how soon she had to get back before Gold took away her desk duties as well, mixed with her anxiety over whether Regina had talked to August Booth yet, resulted in Emma blurting out her reply. "YES!"


	3. Hidden Truths

August Booth was a tall man with a proportional build. At six feet even, his thick arms and long legs sprouted from him like accessories. Famous for his casual work dress, the journalist would often come into the office in jeans and a leather, motorcycle jacket with faded breast pockets and slightly ripped elbow patches. Beneath his heavy coat was nothing more than a white tee-shirt. Short, brown-sugar cropped hair, a scruffy bear of the same color, and devilish blue orbs, the man was known for being the biggest flirt. Missing a wedding ring (divorced), and quiet about his son, August was a womanizer. It was difficult to find any redeeming qualities about the guy.

As Regina told Emma and Henry, Mr. Booth was indeed one of the paper's most influential and important members. He took stories no one else wanted, providing it "spoke to him." August had seniority amongst his other workers, having been there for exactly 10 years. He started out as an intern, little to none college experience, and rather hard to tame; he'd just left his own foster home, which he rarely talked about. This aspect of his life was the only reason Regina had any respect for the fellow. If he never mentioned his time before becoming a big name, she knew wherever he'd been placed must have been awful. It was a code within survivors of the system— if you don't talk about it, it might as well never have existed, which was preferable.

It was also for this reason, that Regina wasn't particularly looking forward to serving punishment. She'd thought long and hard about how August should pay for the sins of his son, and while she wasn't proud of her spiteful attitude, she was also more concerned for Henry's well-being. From what her child had said, it wasn't the first time August's kid had tormented him— intentional or not.

When the elevator dinged and the light flickered, Regina waited for the doors to part and stepped onto the drab, navy carpeting. The frantic sounds of the office she'd reveled in leaving behind were reactivated as soon as she returned. Papers were piling up on the printers, people were shoveling in their lunches in order to get back to work, trapped in their cubicles, and it would seem that the majority of the writers were on the phone with someone. Dozens of voices blended together in a pitchy chorus, one that caused Regina to cringed inwardly.

However, she didn't have time to dwell on the hectic environment. Regina had a mission: Operation Justice, a little thing she'd picked up from Henry. Whenever he needed to get something done, the boy made it some sort of secret mission. On rare occasions, Regina would do just the same. This was one of those rare occasions.

Strolling down the never-ending aisle, everything passed by Regina as if it were on high speed. She was the only thing moving at a normal rate, her arms swung at her sides, while her black heels were muted by the soft ground. Her hips swayed naturally, though hidden beneath her gray power suit. A white shirt tucked into her waist band, the much-respected-slash-feared supervisor was a force to be reckoned with. Anyone who'd been with the paper for more than six months could tell you what that look in her eyes meant: all business, no play.

August was sitting on top of his crowded desk, his feet on his chair, relaying some adventure to several other curious co-workers. His scratchy voice filled the atmosphere, garnering gasps and "oohs" and "aahs" from the crowd that circled around him. None of them saw Regina coming, and all of them would soon regret their careless mistakes. "Mr. Booth, kindly removed your dirt-covered shoes from the company chair," the brunette instructed, lowering her own voice until she sounded like Bea Arthur. As soon as she spoke, everyone cleared a path and fled form the scene, back to their despair-ridden nooks and hung their heads low.

After the last person left, it was just August and Regina. He let his legs dangle over the floor as he continued to sit on the only clearing his table could offer. The rest of it was filthy, covered in fast food wrappers and empty coffee cups. File cabinets were overflowing with older editions of his work, the computer hadn't even been turned on since he arrived that morning, and the remnants of— what could only be described as— a peanut butter and jelly sandwich were in a tight ball, stuffed in a plastic bag. It was repulsive.

Watching as Regina took in his man-cave, August put on a playful smirk and shimmied off the desk until he towered over the woman. Puffing his chest out with grandiosity and tightening his biceps, the bearded man peered down at his boss coyly. "Regina Mills. Now, something must be up if you're mingling with the peasants. A good story, maybe? One that only the best of the best can cover?"

"Stand down, dear," Regina responded thoughtfully. August's coffee breath assaulted her nose, though she kept her composure. His blatant entitlement and presumptuous nature sent a chill down Regina's spine every time they interacted. Sometimes, it was a battle between August Booth and Sydney Glass for the most disgusting of the male species. Maintaing her ground, Regina glanced around to see who else was listening. The more witnesses, the better. "You're correct in assuming the opportunity for a piece, however, you were not the first choice for this… particular event."

August's pompous facade was dented, but he did his best to mend it swiftly. His jaw slackened for a millisecond, but he wasn't so easily deterred. With several feet of room between them, August took one step closer, still careful not to trigger the mildly alarming authority figure. "Why you don't you let me be the judge of that? What's the story?"

Gradually guiding him into the trap she was setting, Regina let go of her conscience and allowed her scheming side to take the reigns. "There's been talk of nuclear missiles in…" she quickly racked her brain for somewhere believable, "Russia. Every other paper is already on the scene and we were going to send Sidney out on Monday—"

"Sidney? The man who's older than Moses?" August asked incredulously, momentarily chipping his own wall.

"He may be older than most, but he's also the most experienced," Regina reasoned.

"Bull crap! I've been here longer than he has!"

Making every effort not to take delight in August's jealously, the regal professional cocked her head to the side as if to drag out his agony. Then, acting as though she were really rethinking it and taking pity on the man, she sighed dramatically. "I suppose you _do_ have a valid point. I'll tell you what; the story is yours, providing that you have the ability to leave tonight. If you are unable to accomplish this—"

"I'm already gone," August cut Regina off smoothly, having regained his control. Gathering his backpack and his keys, the political correspondent that had been praised on numerous occasions for his thorough interviews, dashed off into the stairwell and let the door slam behind him.

No one dared make eye-contact with Regina, as they were all fairly certain of what had just taken place. If anyone had the courage to call her out on it, they must've been out sick, because absolutely none of the other journalists stepped in.

Satisfied with her efforts, though at the same time slightly ashamed, Regina returned to her own office. She passed Belle leisurely and tossed over her shoulder, "August Booth is leaving for Russia tonight to cover the missile crisis. Can you make a note of that for me?"

The only person on the entire floor who wasn't afraid of Regina, Belle set her plastic bowl of salad down and frowned at the woman. "What missile crisis?"

Smiling smugly to herself, Regina merely said, "Make one up."

* * *

Henry had only ever been to Emma's place of employment once in his entire life. He had just turned seven, and Regina had an emergency at work, so she couldn't pick him up from school. Emma, on the other hand, was already in the area and snagged the kid by the loop on his knapsack like a puppy. Just taller than her belly button, Henry waddled into the mysterious space with an overactive imagination. Emma hadn't told him exactly what she did, only that she worked with the goody guys—that she saved the bad ones from themselves. That was all Henry had to know.

At almost 11, now, Henry wasn't as easily convinced of Emma's true job. The dimly lit structure with two floors, eight desks on each, didn't look like it belonged near the pizza joint and nail salon. It was grungy in the inside, heavy with the stench of cigarette smoke and spoiled milk. The fans on the ceiling spun in a slow circle, though there was no breeze to bask in. The blades just twirled aimlessly, like a stranger in the desert.

Mr. Gold's door was shut and most of the first floor was vacant except for the man. Everyone else was either on a case or had been let go due to their own twists of fate. The entire building felt like a prison to Henry. There were only two windows, the walls were painted cloud-white with no colorful stripes or patterns, and there was no music radiating through the halls. It was too adult-like for the kid.

"Come on," Emma beckoned the boy, pulling him up the narrow staircase. "It's your lucky day. You get to see how the other half live, which means… paperwork."

"That doesn't sound very fun," Henry chimed quietly, taking deliberate steps up the steep passageway. He'd once tripped down the stairs to the lobby in his apartment and received a nasty gash on his sensitive calf, which resulted in six stitches in the ER. Regina was scared, but calm, as always. However, Emma had been cornering every doctor and nurse she could find, barking at them to help her "friend's kid." Henry ended up holding Regina's hand and listening to Emma's jokes when his cut was sewn up. He never questioned anything about that night.

The upstairs was only slightly less depressing than downstairs. There were two posters, one on each end of the room. Ruby had her headphones in and the music cranked up, and she danced in her chair next to the Nirvana banner above her desk. Her table was shoved against the hard surface and the brown-haired woman had the pleasure of staring at the wall all day.

The other poster was parallel to Ruby, next to Emma's place; it depicted animated versions of the Beatles— cartoon figures. The blonde's base of operations was nothing like Regina's. Her forms and applications weren't even in folders; they were all strewn across the countertop, as well as on the floor. A crumpled, cardboard box of kleenex sat in the corner of the faux wooden desk, its white flag drawn in surrender. The back of Emma's chair had several coats hung one over the other, as if she'd forgotten to take them home. Candy a casings and pens that were out of ink, but that she'd let gather in a bunch, engulfed what should have been a peaceful environment.

Hastily knocking excess materials away and pulling up a seat for Henry, Emma tossed a balled piece of paper at the back of Ruby's head and waited for her friend to turn around. "Henry, this is Ruby. Ruby, meet the kid."

Pushing aside her annoyance at Emma, the woman with scarlet highlights beamed at the small person who's slim legs swung innocently. "Hey kiddo," she greeted politely. "Congratulations."

"O- on what?" Henry stammered.

"Being the first innocent person to step foot this place," Ruby explained. "Most of the folks that pass through here are—" Emma was waving a hand across her neck, as if to say "Shut up!" Luckily for the blonde, Ruby was quick on her feet. "Most of the folks who pass through here are really old, like 30, and like to rob Petcos," she joked.

Feeling as if she'd dodged a bullet, Emma flopped in her chair that no longer wheeled around. The plastic pieces had broken a long time ago, and she'd just never gotten around to getting them fixed. While Ruby returned to her tunes, Emma studied Henry and the way he absorbed his surroundings. He was like a sponge, that kid. Every detail, every minuscule item that many people would overlook, Henry caught. He made note of the chipped paint on the windowsill, the spiderwebs in the open vents, and the less-faded spot on the wall next to the light switches. Something must've been there before; it was shaped like a rectangle, possibly a picture frame.

Emma followed his gaze and soon understood his curiosity. "It was like that when I started here," she piped. "Our boss never told us what it was." Now that she had some time alone with Henry, which was rare, she figured she might as well make the best of it. "Ok, Kid, honesty hour…" The boy went rigid, petrifying like a statue; he ceased all movements, including breathing. "Why didn't you tell us who was messing with you? We coulda fixed it by now."

"I'm sorry," Henry mumbled without missing a beat. His neck went limp and he hung his head in humiliation, mild panic shot through his nervous system. He wasn't sure whether to look at Emma when she spoke like he did with Regina, though he knew his aunt wasn't as commandeering as his mother could be. Emma had a soft side that she only let Henry see. And, while Regina had her own ways of being the "good cop," Henry still came out feeling… misunderstood after some of their conversations.

"It's not your fault," Emma corrected brusquely, realizing that her statement must've implied blame. "It's just… here's the thing; I know it can be bad and I know saying something can make it worse, but it can also make it better." Reading Henry's apprehensive posture, she opened the top drawer on the left and removed a back of Skittles she kept for emergencies. She placed it on the only cleared spot of her desk, right in front of the kid, and gestured for him to take some.

Henry reached out a quarter of an inch before retracting his hand and shaking his head modestly. "Mom says bad behavior shouldn't be rewarded."

"But that's the point, Kid. You didn't do anything wrong," Emma said.

Confused, Henry pinched his eyebrows together. "But I thought you said I should have told you sooner?"

Realizing that this wasn't going to be as easy as she had hoped, Emma sighed heavily and stared at the boy she'd carried for nine months. It was moments like these when she wanted to shed the lies they'd all been feeding him for 11 years and be totally transparent with him. She wanted to admit the truth, to help him as his mother, not just an "aunt." However, in the grand scheme of things, Emma knew she couldn't drop that sort of bombshell on him. Henry was an intelligent, happy, mature kid. Just because she wanted to tell him, didn't mean he'd be able to handle such a deep-rooted confession.

Setting aside her own desires, Emma lifted the candy and waved held it out in front of him enticingly. "This isn't a reward and you did the right thing. Better late than never. Now come on, just have a few; rot your teeth and get a sugar high. I promise, it'll take your mind off things."

Not without great hesitation, Henry curled his fingers around the small, spacecraft-shaped items. He separated them by color in his palm and ate one of each, chewing exactly four times before moving onto the next, and repeating the same pattern as he sat there beside Emma. The woman wondered if he didn't have some sort of OCD, which would have been understandable knowing Regina. And so, without making Henry feel like the object of scrutiny because of his ritual, Emma turned back to her mountains of late work and forged a trail between the stacks. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Regina arrived home at precisely 6:30. Living in the city for most of her life, she'd learned the ins and outs of navigating through the constantly-busy roads. Unlike many residents in her complex, Regina did not own a vehicle. Of course, she used to; her former mode of transportation took the form of a black Mercedes that she eventually realized was a waste of money. She hardly ever drove it, parking was a nightmare in her neighborhood, and it was too much of a hassle to maintain. So, like the rest of New Yorkers, Regina became a master of the subway station. And, she fit right into the diverse masses of people all cramming together on one car. She in her formal attire, others in their religious garb, and folks in casual street clothes.

The newspaper editor had just set her briefcase on the counter and removed her jacket when the front door swung open, revealing a red-faced Emma; she was carrying a comatose Henry in her arms. Regina immediately dropped what she was doing and rushed over to catch her son, who was cuddle into Emma's hold.

"Scratch the movie tonight," Emma panted as Regina opened a clear trail down the hallway. "He's totally knocked out."

The brunette opened Henry's room, where the lights were already off, and moved out of Emma's way. The strong blonde woman gently laid the boy on top of his blankets and the adults proceeded to remove Henry's shoes, which Emma put in the same shelf that they went into every night. Regina brushed the hair from her son's forehead, readjusted the pillow behind him, and kissed his cheek tenderly. Emma wished she could do the same, but instead pat Henry's shoulder simply. It didn't feel right to perform such an act of affection in front of Regina— Henry's real mom. At least, that's how the bail bondswoman saw it.

Leaving Henry alone in his own dreamland, Emma and Regina migrated to the dining room. "I know he's growing and all, but isn't he kinda old for such an early bedtime?" Emma wondered as she leaned over the bar, the small hairs on her arms rising at the freezing touch of the surface.

Regina filled two glasses with water, one for her and one for her friend, and found an odd amount of comfort in the sound of the running water. "Nonsense, Emma. He's not asleep for the night. I'm sure you remember how much we cherished nap times," she teased. She found Emma's naivety somewhat amusing, though at the same time, she felt a small amount of guilt. "He'll be up again soon, ready plow through the rest of his day."

"There won't be any more to plow through, Gina," Emma rolled her eyes. Quietly slurping the refreshing liquid, she fell into one of the chairs by the glass table and shrugged off her leather coat. Secretly desiring a stronger beverage, she politely finished what she'd been served without complaints. Regina joined her, taking the seat directly across from her, and crossed one leg over the other. Her always-shining brown hair fell slightly over her face, something that always made Emma smile for some reason. "You were right earlier, you know." Regina frowned slightly, mildly bewildered. Licking her lips nervously and fidgeting with the circular pendant on her neck, Emma rephrased, "It's not like when we were kids. Henry doesn't know how to handle this kind of stuff."

"Neither did we," Regina mused evenly, a hint of melancholy beneath her words. She kept her gaze on the bubbles in her water, the way they floated to the surface but didn't pop just yet.

"But we learned how to and we fought back."

"Correction, dear: _you_ fought back. I merely waited for it to end. Speaking of which, I talked with August earlier. I don't know how much help it will be, but it was… sinfully delightful."

"Good. But if it happens again, I swear to God I'm going to the principal or the headmistress or whatever she is." Leaning against the wooden backing, Emma pulled her hair into a bunch and let it drape over her right shoulder. In that moment, it was as if she and Regina couldn't have looked more different. Emma was never one to wear "creme-colored shells" and perfectly ironed slacks. If she could help it, she never dressed up at all. She only played princess when she wanted to bust someone; the more feminine she looked, the better chance her targets that were attracted to women were receptive. But right now, in her jeans and plain tee shirt, Emma Swan noticed just how separate the lives she and Regina lead. Mrs. Mills always looked so professional, so formidable. Her makeup was never botched, her nails were trimmed and painted neatly, and her skin couldn't have been smoother. And yet, underneath all of Regina's beautiful outer features, there was a sorrow to the woman that very few people would be able to detect.

Removing an envelope from her back pocket, Emma offered it to its addressed recipient. Scrawly cursive had Regina's name printed on it, and she already knew exactly what it was. "You don't have to open it," Emma reminded. "It's not like they'll know if you open their card or not."

Delicately unsealing the flap, Regina ignored Emma's comments. She knew she didn't _have_ to open it, but something inside of her wanted to read it. She wanted to see how many people had been fooled by the woman who raised her. Discarding the excess paper, Regina brushed the raised image of a rose on the cover. Dark green stems and vibrant red petals bore into her soul, taunting her. Inhaling slowly, she read aloud, "_Our deepest condolences to you and your family. Cora Mills was a lovely woman and an amazing mother. May she rest in peace._" Using every bit of willpower that she had, Regina resisted the crushing urge to crumple the card, stomp on it, and set it on fire. In a strained voice, she asked, "Did Henry say anything about…?"

"No," Emma said, reading Regina's mind. "He didn't talk about her."

"Well, I suppose that's… Yes, that's good," the brunette corrected herself. "His life is stressful enough, he doesn't need to hear false tales."

"What about you? How're you holding up?"

"You asked me that last night. I'm fine, Emma. Please, I'd rather not discuss this." Tossing the ill-fitting sentiments as far away from her as possible, Regina crossed her arms over chest and embraced herself. "I take it you two had a pleasant day," she added nonchalantly.

Chuckling softly, Emma nodded with a fond smile. "Yeah, I guess you could say that… Thanks again for, you know, letting us hang out."

"No thanks needed," Regina replied instantly. _After all, you _did_ give birth to him_, she thought.

Although it wasn't terribly late at night, Emma decided it was time for her to go home. Henry was sound asleep and Regina looked as if she could use some space for herself. Through the window, she could see the lights from all of the businesses illuminating the streets; from afar, it was like a carnival. Excited sounds and cars vrooming by all permeated through the glass barrier and traveled to Emma's ear. She always did have good hearing. "Look, I think I'll leave you guys to it. Maybe we can do something tomorrow…?"

"I don't see why not," Regina responded, anxiously shifted her attention between Emma and the card at the other end of the table. When Emma stood up, so did Regina, but it wasn't as graceful as her movements usually were; it was staggered and lacking the confidence she normally possessed. Still distracted, she lead Emma to the front door.

"Gina, you know I'm here if you need anything. Just say the word." Emma didn't feel comfortable with leaving Regina to wallow in her own grief, regardless if it was a "process." But, she knew the woman; Regina didn't like people making a fuss.

"Yes, of course. Thank you." Regina leaned against the wall and absentmindedly watched as Emma traveled down the corridor. It wasn't until she'd gotten to the staircase that Regina snapped out of her daze. "Emma." The business woman strode over to her former bodyguard and lifelong ally. Emma peered over at Regina and read all of the signs of an impending breakdown. However, Regina maintained her facade and simply hugged the figure in red. "Thanks," she said with more sincerity.

As if wasn't already obvious, Emma half-smirked at Regina knowingly. "Anytime."

Closing off their apartment, Regina listened to make sure Henry was still unconscious. She didn't want him to watch her moment of vulnerability. Taking the card and a book of matches, Regina moved to the metal sink. She plucked out a small stick with a green head and struck it against the strip on the cover. An orange flame ignited and burned bright, reflecting in her eyes. What was a sign of danger for most people was a symbol of freedom for Regina. She wasn't a pyromaniac, she didn't take pleasure in setting fires. But in this instance, she didn't mind it. Holding up the piece of mail, Regina lit a corner and let the inferno spread as far as her finger tips at the top. When it was just an inch away, she dropped the last corner into the basin and let it lay there with its sibling ashes until there was nothing left. The handwriting was illegible, the paper was charred, and the lies had been destroyed. Unfortunately for Regina, there was an entire box beneath her bed, its contents awaiting the same fate.

* * *

**A/N** - Hello dearies, thanks for the follows! I'm glad you're enjoying this story. I mean to update a few days ago, but I was out of town and didn't have a computer. Hopefully, I'll make up for that :-) Hope you liked this chapter! Emma & Regina's past will be explored more in the next few chapters. Let me know what you all think! Reviews are much appreciated!


	4. A Cruel Reminder

Saturday sprung upon New York City as assuredly as a turtle crossing into the ocean. It sort of just happened. Like any other day in the Big Apple, it just was. The streets were just as crowded, the people were in the same hurry, and cars honked just as loud as they always did. Weekends had no effect in the heart of the City of Dreams. In a constantly-on-the-go environment, life never slowed down for anyone or anything.

Henry slid out of his nightly coma and entered into a world of french toast, bacon, and eggs. Sizzling from the iron frying pans traveled down the corridor and served at his alarm clock. No matter what, though, Henry always seemed to wake up at 8:15 every weekend. It was his body's natural alarm. No matter how late he went to bed, it was the same thing every day off from school.

He kicked off his feather-downy blankets, stretched his arms behind his head, and yawned the biggest yawn with his eyes scrunched together. His stomach kicked into gear as his mouth watered from the aroma of a home-cooked breakfast. Standing up, he relinquished power of his body to his nose and let it carry him towards the kitchen, his hair disheveled and his nightclothes clumped together.

"Good morning, dear," Regina beamed enthusiastically. She was definitely a morning person. Running the metal spatula through the scrambling eggs, she rotated slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of her groggy son. Henry drifted towards the refrigerator, pulled out a jug of freshly-squeezed apple cider, and retrieved two glasses. "One more, Henry. Emma's coming over soon," Regina relayed nonchalantly.

"What for?" Henry asked as he took out another cup. Blinking several times he saw that there were three places set at the table.

"I don't know," Regina confessed, having moved on to stacking the bacon on a plate. The pan with the french toast was still busily fulfilling its duty. "All that she said was that she has a surprise."

"Like… a good surprise, or…?"

Bringing two trays to the empty buffet, Regina shrugged to herself. "I suppose she'll tell us when she gets here." Turning around, she searched Henry's youthful features. The swelling around his nose had gone done substantially, but the coloring hadn't shifted from its previous purple and blue. If only he'd let her put some makeup on it to cover it up. "How does it feel?" she motioned to his battle wound.

Henry's hand flew to his injury as if he'd forgotten about it. Mindfully, he touched the flesh, fully prepared to cry out in pain. However, he remained calm. It hurt, of course, but it wasn't as bad as he had anticipated. It was more like a dull ache, but it had the potential to turn into a burning sensation at any moment. "'S ok," he mumbled.

"Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?" Regina wanted to know. It killed her that there was very little that could be done to erase Henry's shame. And for a little while, this distracted her from her other… issues.

Henry shook his head with a gracious smirk, "I'm good, Mom. It doesn't even hurt." He knew that if he told her the truth, she'd insist on taking him to the doctor or worse: the emergency room. Reading her sluggish body language— for Regina, that meant she hunched forward a quarter of an inch— Henry turned the tables. "What about you? Are you ok?"

As if she could't love her child any more, Regina's heart melted at his concern for her. She squashed the distance that separated them and pulled Henry in for a hug, despite his reservations. He would never be too old to hug his mother. "Don't worry about me, all right? Leave all the worrying to the parent."

The pair had just broken apart when a tapping came from the door. Regina went back to the remaining food on the stove while Henry turned the knob. "Hey, Kid," Emma winked down at him. "Forgot to give you back your keys. Hmmm, something smells good." Henry chuckled at his aunt's obsession with food, though to be fair, he loved it just as much. Whenever Regina cooked, which was quite often, he couldn't get enough. He felt bad that Emma was unable to go through the religious experience that was Regina's meals on a regular basis.

"Come on in!" the brunette called over to the blonde. Regina was holding the saucer an inch over the burner, letting the bread soak up every last bit of butter that had melted into a pool. Henry had already seated Emma with a glass of cider and was kindly waiting for his mother to put the finishing touches on their feast. With one last scan of the spread, Regina nodded to herself and untied the violet apron around her waist. "Help yourselves."

Henry and Emma grabbed for the bacon at the exact same moment, which Regina tried to ignore, and being the gentleman that he was, Henry handed the plate to his aunt. "Nah, you go ahead," Emma said quietly, suddenly self-conscious. "You've gotta grow some more, I'm good," she added as she pat her flat stomach.

As Henry happily piled four slices onto his clean dish, Regina turned to Emma. "So, tell me, what is this surprise you couldn't reveal over the phone? Don't tell me you've stolen another car and need somewhere to hide?"

"One time! That was one time!" Emma griped, eyes rolled to the side in an overly dramatic fashion. "Besides, I was 17. Do I like like a teenager anymore?"

"No," Regina confirmed. "However, you do still act like one."

Henry stifled a giggle at the women's banter as he moved onto the fluffy, yellow eggs. Watching Regina and Emma was like watching Bert and Ernie; they were amusing, confusing, and also opposites who seemed to attract. Had Henry not been right next to her, Emma would've— jokingly— given Regina the finger, which Regina would've reciprocated with a few choice words. "Look, do you wanna know or not?" Emma whined as she shoved a forkful of food into her mouth.

Crinkling her nose in distaste of Emma's eating habits, Regina said, "Why don't you finish chewing before letting us in on your dirty secret?" Having meals together always posed somewhat of a challenge for the woman. On one hand, it was a great way to spend time all together, especially Henry and Emma. But, on the other, it was also a reminder of their situation. Regardless of whether Henry noticed, Emma and Regina did; Emma and the boy somehow managed to look exactly alike while they ate. If it wasn't the way they wiped their chins with the napkins, it was how they slurped their beverages. Or, it was the way in which they chewed like a giraffe: slowly, but audibly. Regina and Henry never did that; they never really had much in common, except for their shared affinity for comic books. Often, Regina found herself envious of the connection between Emma and Henry, though she knew she was being foolish.

"Ok, you guys ready for some awesome news?" Emma asked after washing down the toast with juice, a line of syrup threatening to fall into her shirt. Pulling a white envelope out from her back pocket, she waved it in front of the duo. "Open it up," she said to Henry.

Very deliberately, the kid lifted the flap and peeked inside the unmarked pouch. Once he saw the contents, his eyes widened in disbelief. Almost as if he were frightened of the objects within, he lifted an apprehensive hand and hovered it over the slim fissure. "No way," he wowed, the first sound to escape through his solemn exterior since laughing just minutes before.

"What is it?" Regina wanted to know. She craned her neck slightly like a puppy trying to look out of a window two feet too high.

Emma had been buzzing all morning, ever since she'd booked the flight and purchased the tickets. She'd wanted to wait until Henry's birthday to tell them, but she just didn't have the patience for that. She'd always been more of an "instant gratitude" kind of person. "What would you say to four days at…. Disney World?" Emma addressed Regina more than Henry; she could tell by his shocked expression that he wanted to go.

"I… I'm sorry, what was that?" Regina stammered. She set her fork down on her plate tactfully, careful not to let it clatter against the glass; no matter what situation she was in, Regina always recalled the teachings of Cora.

"Go ahead, Kid. Show her." Henry followed Emma's instructions and speedily passed the papers onto his mother as if they were a ticking time bomb. Snatching the documents, Regina scanned the information that was typed up before her. There were numbers and words, but none of it made sense. "Henry gets off in a few weeks, right?" Emma questioned. "It's for the end of June. He'll be all done with school and everything. No more homework, no more bullies. It'll be a real summer vacation!" she boasted with pride. She rarely ever spent money on anything other than food and rent, and she saw no better way to spend it than on Henry. If she couldn't be the mother he deserved, then she damn well would be the aunt other kids would be jealous of.

While Henry was struggling to find his voice again, Regina had no trouble locating hers. "Henry, dear, would you excuse us for a short while?" she asked in a strained tone. Recognizing that accent, Henry left without a protest. He swiftly disappeared into his man-cave, shut the door behind him, and pressed his ear against the thin wall. Just because he couldn't be present, didn't mean he couldn't know every juicy detail. With the dishes in the sink, Emma began running the water; the warm stream relaxed her nerves as she lifted one plate after the other. Still at the table, Regina narrowed her eyes at the woman. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Emma inquired innocently. She pulled open the dishwasher and knelt down to pack the trays in. Moving onto the glasses, she filled them up with water and poured them out into the drain like a child.

Mildly irritated at Emma's aloofness, Regina stomped up to the blonde and leaned against the counter. She glanced down the hallway to make sure Henry wasn't in ear-shot, though she didn't know his secret methods. While he was several inches of plaster away from them, Regina still spoke in a thick whisper; her husky resonance making it nearly impossible to actually murmur. "You had no right coming in like that; waving a treasure that can't be won."

Placing the cups upside down on the top rack, Emma frowned at her friend. "Whaddu mean? The Disney World thing?" Regina nodded in exasperation. "Gina, it's all paid for, if that's what you're worried about. It's not like it'll get cancelled or bumped back. It's all good."

"No it's not 'all good,' Emma Swan. You should have consulted with me before going off and making elaborate plans! You should have come to me before telling Henry! I have no clue if I can take work off, he's never been on a plane before, and I'm not willing to risk losing him in an overflowing theme park!" Onto the silverware, Emma rinsed each piece individually with great consideration. Her own temper increasing exponentially, Regina started to turn red. "For God's sake, Emma, are you listening to me?!" she shouted, grabbing the blonde's wrists with much more force than she'd intended. The moment she did, though, she regretted it. Like a vicious canine, Emma yanked free of Regina's clutches and plastered herself against the wall; the water still splattered against the metal basin, her hands still dripping, and several unruly twists in her face. After years of abuse from fellow foster kids, and a couple of times, adults, Emma hated physical contact unless initiated by her own self. "I- I'm sorry," Regina stuttered, genuinely guilty. She cursed herself for letting Emma's phobia of being touched slip her memory. Although they'd grown up in similar environments, Regina had compartmentalized most of her experiences; she worked on overcoming her anxieties on her own.

As if in a dream state, Emma spoke without any expression at all. She held her arms out still, as if she'd forgotten to put them down. There was a towel not three feet away from her, but she was frozen in her spot. "Forget about the trip," she uttered. "We don't have to go." It was apparent in her glossy orbs that she'd had enough excitement for one day. Feeling as if she were in a sauna, Emma tugged at the low collar of her shirt and wiped her forehead, which didn't help any since her hands were wet. "I should go." Throwing her coat over one arm, she plucked the envelope from Henry's placemat and trudged towards the door, leaving a trail of water droplets behind her.

"Christ," Regina moaned to herself. Checking one more time to assure herself that Henry was safe in his room, she bolted after the woman and followed her down three flights of stairs. She didn't want to reach for Emma and scare her again, but Regina wasn't having any luck with just calling her name. Finally, after plummeting through another two flights, Regina seized the hem of Emma's coat. "Emma, please."

"What?!" the blonde snarled as she spun around, wrenching her jacket from Regina's hold; she was beginning to wish she hadn't even come for breakfast.

Pleading with Emma, Regina softened her previously dreadful features. "Please, you have to understand; you have to remember… you have to remember the arrangement. I'm his mother, Emma. _I _make the big decisions." As much as she absolutely hated to use this as ammo, Regina saw no other way to make Emma realize. "You're his—"

"I know who I am," the bail bondswoman said bitterly.

"And you know the rules. Maybe sometime we could bend them, but for now, Henry needs—"

"I get it," Emma remarked. It was all too convenient that she was turned away from Regina, as she felt her eyes stinging with tears. "I'll see you later, ok?" After that, she took off in a sprint, never bothering to see if Regina was still running behind her. Emma couldn't get out any faster if she were driving through the building in a Mustang; her long legs carried her down the rest of the steps, never allowing her to tumble. Lightyears passed before she landed on the first floor, both of her feet crashing against the carpet as if she'd fallen from a two story building, her footsteps ricocheting off of the metal railing. Emma felt as if she were suffocating, as if the corridors were closing in on her and the front door was getting further and further away. A tight grip clamped down on her throat and she was having trouble breathing.

"Emma!" she heard Regina holler somewhere in the distance. But she didn't let that stop her. She had to get out; she had to get some fresh air. Even after ending up on the front stoop, raindrops pouring onto the top of her head and obscuring her vision, Emma kept going. It was all just too much. She needed space. She needed room to completely meltdown.

* * *

When Regina returned to her flat, Henry was timidly gliding down the main hall. His brown hair stuck out in several different directions, he was still in his pajamas, and he wore a rather interesting expression; it was a combination of sympathy and understanding, though he couldn't really understand what had happened— not yet, anyway.

"Mom?"

Clicking the locks and fixing her hair, Regina donned an incredibly fake smile. "Yes, dear?"

"What's wrong? Why'd Emma leave like that?"

_Oh, Gods, he saw everything_. "Erm, Emma had an appointment she forgot about," Regina lied.

"On a Saturday?" Henry may have been young, but he wasn't stupid. He was much more astute than Regina ever gave him credit for. That was one of the reasons he loved being around Emma; she didn't patronize him. "Is she ok?"

Sensing that he wasn't going to give up just yet, Regina budged an inch. "She'll be fine," she said. "She… she'll be just fine." Sizing up the nearly-cleaned dining room, the brunette threw on her apron and secured the strings behind her back. "Come on, let's finish this. I'm sure we can find something fun to do afterwards." She made no mention of Disney World.

Henry gathered the napkins and tossed them into the linen bag under the sink. Then, he took a wet wash cloth and cleared away the crumbs, just like Regina taught him. As her son assisted in clearing up the space, Regina watched him with a quizzical eye; her focus shifted from Emma's triggered reaction to the way in which Henry carried himself around the house. He no longer slumped forward as if embarrassed to exist, his chin was lifted several inches in confidence, and he emerald orbs— Emma's emerald orbs— shone with budding poise. The older he got, the more questions he was bound to ask. She figured it was just a matter of time before Henry pieced everything together on his own. She thought about this everyday; it wasn't as though it was a recent worry of hers. Regina knew she and Emma would have to tell Henry at some point. Deciding on when that point would be, however, proved to be the most difficult part. There was so much that she wanted Henry to know, and yet so much she wanted to protect him from. Sometimes, though, Regina forgot that she couldn't shield him from his own story.

* * *

Emma raced home on foot through the storm. She didn't care that her clothes were drenched and that her curls were soaking. The bangs she'd been growing out were plastered to her face and her shirt hugged her toned abs. She darted up to her apartment, threw off her coat, stepped out of her jeans, ripped off her tank and fell onto the bathroom floor. The cold tile against her skin shocked her back to life and her pupils enlarged, back to their normal size. She hadn't had this strong a response in years, not since… not since before Henry was born. Why she was reacting this violently was lost on her. All that she knew was that she hadn't felt so small in over a decade. Everything around her was a foreign object, threatening to crush her like a bug. It was as if she were being turned into that fragile teenager again, unable to stop the pain inflicted by others; she felt out of control.

How could something so awesome end up being something so awful? Emma knew who she was to Henry; she could never forget. Every time she saw him, every time she hugged him, and every time she kissed him goodbye, she knew. It wasn't as though she were trying to take Regina's place, let alone act as a mother period. She just wanted to do something nice for the Kid, show him a good time. She just wanted to see him smile, something she only got to do weekdays at seven o'clock. Why was that such a bad thing?

Her phone rang in the other room. It was on vibrate and on sound. The pure notion of talking to someone made Emma quiver in her own embrace. She didn't care who it was or what they wanted, she just wanted to be alone. Though, that's a hard feat to accomplish when you're accompanied by the demons that've plagued you for your entire life.

* * *

**A/N** - Hello, dearies! I hope that you enjoyed that a little update! More will be explained as we go on, for sure. I'm sorry it's been a couple of weeks. It's been hella busy. Anyway, I'm still working on this and "Here's Looking at You, Dear." I have NOT forgotten about these two! Oh, and by the way, nice job trending "SlashShipsMatter" yesterday! It was so cool to see what everyone had to say and to know that someone in the SQ community originated that hashtag! Stay tuned for more, folks!


	5. Where My Demons Hide

_"Get away from herx!" Emma screamed as she stomped through the house and into the living room. Her singular braid flopped against her waist, her flannel shirt was was missing several buttons, the sleeves were tattered, and her sneakers were torn at the heels. At thirteen years-old, she was small, but she was stronger than anyone else in the "family," except for Marvin Wallace, the patriarch. Several feet taller than Emma, he towered over the teenager with a disgusting smirk; his comb-over was thick with oil and his white tank top had started to turn brown from all of the spilled beer. His revolting, protruding gut jiggled whenever he moved and he oozed of testosterone. _

_As she rounded the corner and rammed herself into the unsuspecting portly man, Emma planted herself in front of Regina, accidentally shoving her onto the couch— it was a softer landing than what Marvin had intended. The navy-blue blankets-for-curtains blocked out any and all sunlight, but Emma could still see the pathetic figure and his meaty arms hanging flailing in the air. By the looks of it, she'd gotten there before Marvin had done anything too despicable. _

_Rolling on the ground like a hog, Marvin got on all fours and tangoed with the floor until he could stand up again; the knee-high coffee table served as a crutch for his oversized claws. Sweat stains appeared beneath his arms and at the base of his back, which didn't mix well with the stench of alcohol. Chuckling to himself, he cracked his knuckles and neck maniacally, as if he were trying to intimidate Emma; it didn't work. She never moved from her spot, her whole being acting as a shield for Regina. _

_"You stupid bitch," Marvin sneered. He grabbed Emma by her-already-ripped collar and lifted her until her feet were above the carpet littered with cans and crumpled kleenex. "Wha'd I tell ya 'bout bein' brave, huh?" With all of his weight behind it, he flung the young woman through the doorway and into the staircase. Emma landed bum-first, her head crashed into one of the steps. Walking up the side, ready for another round, Marvin brought Emma's wrists together and used his own hands as cuffs; he yanked her off of the wooden stairs, giving her whiplash in the process, and tugged at her arms. Finding the perfect spot on the wall, Marvin let go of Emma just in time to kick her in the stomach and send her flying into the plaster, stealing the wind right out of her. Regina was in the corner by the fireplace, crying so hard she was gagging. "It only makes things worse," the man seethed as he squished Emma's cheeks together. _

_Before Marvin could do any more damage, Emma's eyes opened half-way and she aimed her next word at Regina. "Run."_

* * *

The nightmares had been back for nearly two weeks, but Emma didn't dare tell anyone, especially not David or Mary Margaret. They'd always lamented how they wished they'd found her sooner and spared her the worst of her life. What made the nightmares even more unbearable wasn't just the fact that she hadn't let anyone know; what made them worse was the fact that they weren't just bad dreams. Every night that she was transported back to one of those places— it was a permanent moment cemented into her memory. Horrendous homes with terrible foster parents and cycles of abuse were a part of Emma that she couldn't shed; a second skin that was she was unable to climb out of. The recollections tormented her every evening and dragged her back to events she wanted more than anything to leave behind. Her mind wouldn't let her forget; it kidnapped her and forced her to re-live it all.

After Marvin knocked her out with his sharp left hook, Emma shot upright, gasping for air. Still on the bathroom floor in 2011, she'd slept most of the day away. It was getting to be dusk outside; the window displayed a royal blue and she could see the lights from the city twinkle like stars. She didn't know what time it was presently, but she did know that she could use a shower.

Standing before the mirror, Emma turned on the water and let it heat up until steam crawled out from the curtains and started fogging up the surfaces. She relieved herself of her undergarments, but lingered before the reflective surface. Regardless of how many times she looked at her own image, Emma was never not stunned, or disgusted, by her many disfigurements. Her entire body from the neck down was covered in scars, but most of them were hide-able by shirts and pants. Some, however, weren't as easy to cover up.

Emma traced a long, jagged mark just below her right collarbone. It looped under the protruding cartilage and connected from one end to the other in a wide U-shape, like the chain to a pocket watch. It had whitened over the years; it was no longer a fleshy pink, but a faded peach that almost blended with the rest of her skin. Instead of being raised and slightly bumpy, it was now flat and smooth; yet another gift from Mr. Wallace. This one, however, unlike the rest, had truly been an accident. It happened before their match. He'd been drunk and tripped onto her in the kitchen; his beer bottle shattered against her. Regina had already gone to bed for the night and Emma had had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The next one was on her bicep. It was a thick gash that had healed terribly due to lack of medical attention. She hadn't gotten the stitches she needed, and instead, had used various bandaids to help it mend. To her own displeasure, the cut engraved in her skin with a pocket knife ended up being one of her most hated scars. The woman had been aiming for the youngest boy, but Emma jumped in just in time. Mrs. Riley wasn't even the foster mother— she was the foster mother's sister who had come to babysit and threatened all five of the kids if they said a word. Emma took the blame and said that she tripped into the China cabinet. She even broke the glass to prove it, which was how and why she was removed from the home.

Perhaps the worst of them all, though, was the one on her upper right thigh. As if roots to a tree, it sprouted from a core blob above her knee and spread into several vines that rose like tentacles. A flamingo-pink, the burn from her fifteenth year was still as visible and as alive as ever; some days it tingled so badly, Emma wished the nerve-endings had been severed completely. It happened on Halloween. Regina had already been placed in the care of one Cora Mills, and Emma was on her own. She wasn't defending anyone, she wasn't fighting to protect a loved one: she was fighting to protect herself.

She'd gotten into a row with one of her foster brothers. He was older by two years and thought himself to be a grown adult, which he associated with freedom to harass others. He started calling her names and taunting her, giving her the title of "House Whore." Emma threw the first punch, blindsiding him from behind as he was walking away. Within minutes, they were duking it out on the front yard for passerby to see, all of whom were unaccompanied minors and blissfully ignorant. The boy, who was nearly a man at the age of 17, wasn't very much bigger than Emma. If anything, they were the same size. She supposed that's why he was so desperate, so afraid that he'd lose. After she snuck in an uppercut, the man-child panicked. He grabbed the first thing he saw, which was the Jack-o-lantern on the front porch, and slung it at Emma. The small candle from inside flew through the mouth carved into the orange skin and landed on her jeans. Less than two seconds later, her entire upper leg was on fire. She stopped, she dropped, and she rolled, but the damage had been done. The flames had chewed through her denim and ravaged her pale flesh. An ambulance was called, but she rode in it alone. If the foster parents went along, they'd surely be tried with neglect. They were saving their own asses by sending Emma off on her own. That was the last time she'd seen them.

When the mirror was totally blanketed in condensation, Emma stepped under the spraying hose and let the scalding liquid run down her naked form. Never sensitive to heat, the blonde felt most alive under hot water. The prickling sensation of her burn always ceased when under pressure and for a second, it let Emma escape from her previous warfare.

Under the scattered droplets, the blonde scrubbed soap over her scars obsessively. She thought if she were thorough enough, they'd come off like dirt. That's all they were— dirt. They were contaminating her livelihood, making it hard for her to handle a simple gesture of shaking hands. Whenever someone approached her, of any gender, she always took one small step away from them. Even when it was her parents or Regina, Emma shied away for fear of being hurt again.

The only person she never recoiled from was Henry. There was something about the tenderness in his eyes and the way he moved, as if he were consciously trying to make everyone comfortable. He never reached too quickly or hugged too hard. There was a lot of his father in him, the way his smile made the rest of the world seem nonexistent. But that wasn't why Emma loved him. She loved him because he was her son, and that love was painful. Like a knife into her bicep, it cut deeply into her soul. And like a fire to her leg, it burned her insides. Because, Henry was her son… and he had no clue.

* * *

After leaving Emma four apologetic and frantic voice messages and seven equally apologetic and frantic text messages, Regina came to the conclusion that her friend really just needed space. Between assuring Henry that his "aunt" was fine and mentally berating herself for such a careless act, the brunette had a rather busy day. She and her teenager never did find anything "fun" to do, as it didn't feel very fun without Emma. Both of them had prepared themselves for a day with the bail bondswoman, the person who always made them smile or laugh at her corny jokes. Regardless of whether Henry was aware of the circumstances of Emma's sudden disappearance, he knew something wasn't right.

He fell asleep sometime around nine thirty. He'd finished his homework and all of his chores, watched less than half an hour of television, and checked off his nightly tasks before kissing Regina's cheek goodnight.

"I love you, Henry," his mother whispered as she kissed him back, the pads of her fingers brushing his cheek gently. In the back of her mind, she felt guilty that Emma couldn't say this the same way Regina meant it.

"Love you too, Mom. Good night."

Regina watched as her growing child shuffled to his room in his shrinking pajamas and winced slightly when his door closed. This was a new occurrence. Up until last month, Henry slept with his door open in case he needed anything or he had a bad dream. Now, being almost 12 and all, he felt as if he were too old to stick to his normal routine. So, the door was closed.

Exhaling tiredly, Regina got up from her spot on the couch where she was proof-reading one of Belle's sample pieces and poured herself a glass of wine. She hardly ever drank when Henry was at home, once in a blue moon, but today had been an emotional one. She needed this one glass.

Skulking back to her seat, she held the cup to her chest and looked out of the wide window in the wall. It was similar in size to the one in her office, but the view was not nearly as grand. From her sofa, all she could see was a park without street lamps. She could vaguely make out the trees right in front of her. The scenery in her neighborhood was beautiful, of course. It just looked better in the daylight.

Doing her best not to fret about Emma, Regina turned her thoughts to another dreaded task. She set her drink onto the table— on a coaster— and rested her laptop on her knees. She'd been putting this off for two days, but she was out of time to stall. Regina had to write Cora's obituary. She'd called dozens of people personally, but she couldn't go on perpetuating a false image of who her "mother" been— not when the words had to come form her own mouth. An obituary was much more formal and less intimate.

It was ironic. Regina had always had a way with words, especially when putting them on a page. But this particular assignment proved to be especially tricky. She stared at the blank document before her and let the cursor blink. She knew there was nothing on there yet. The little straight line didn't need to remind her.

At some point, after 40 minutes of nothing, Regina's eyelids began to droop. Her head slowly fell forward until her chin was touching her chest and her lips parted somewhat. Before she could stop herself, Regina had fallen asleep.

* * *

_"I don't want to go without you," the fourteen year-old said through a rush of tears she couldn't control. She sat on the bottom bunk with her arms folded in protest and her brown eyebrows pushed together in a pathetic scowl. Regina refused to do anything that day, but Emma wasn't going to have it. While her friend threw a tantrum, the blonde packed the rest of Regina's things for her. "It's not fair." _

_Tossing Regina's clothes into a duffle bag, Emma rolled her eyes to keep from crying as well. The sleep-room was empty except the two of them. Everyone else was eating lunch, and those who weren't… Mrs. Edwards, the caretaker, blocked off the space until the girls were finished. If she could have, Mrs. Edwards would've adopted everyone there. "You have to, Gina," Emma pressed. "You're finally getting adopted. You can't blow that now. I'll find my own parents. Until then, we'll figure something out." _

_"She doesn't even like me," Regina countered. After everything that she'd been through during her years in the system, the young woman never thought she'd be willing to pass at an adoption. But Emma hadn't seen this lady; she hadn't heard her steely voice or seen her cold eyes. _

_"But she'll love you." Shoving in the last pair of jeans, Emma zipped the sack closed and took the empty spot across from her sobbing friend. With the compassion that they'd so often been refused, she took Regina's hand into her own and flicked away the tears that rolled down the girl's cheeks. She searched Regina's frightened, chestnut windows and wished there was way to make this better for the both of them. "Everything's gonna be ok, you'll see. You're gonna be ok." Wrapping her arms around Regina, Emma delicately pulled her into a hug. "Remember the plan: when we're 18, no matter what, we'll stick together. Even if you move to, like, Germany, I'll find you. I'll always find you, Gina." _

_"Promise?" Regina whimpered, still holding onto Emma. _

_"I promise." _

_"Girls, it's time," Mrs. Edwards regretfully informed the duo. She'd knocked on the door to be polite, but hadn't heard a response. Thinking they'd run off, she overlooked etiquette and forced her way into the room. Her gray hair in a sock bun and her burgundy cardigan hanging by her knees, the woman always hated this part of the job. "She's waiting." _

_Picking up Regina's bag, Emma slung it over her shoulder and held onto the brunette's hand. She didn't let go, not even when they were face-to-face with Regina's new mother. Having never seen her before, the blonde was rather startled at the adult's appearance: tight lips painted in blood red, pale skin, matching brown hair as Regina's, and empty, loveless eyes. She looked like a witch. Not the helpful and cheery kind, but an angry, callous one._

_Cora Mills stretched those tight lips into a broad, and visibly fake, smile aimed directly for Regina. She hardly even acknowledged Emma's presence, nor the fact that the girls' fingers were intertwined as tight as glue. "Hello, dear. Are you ready to go home?" Her voice gave Emma goosebumps. _

_With everyone watching, Regina had no choice but to say, "Yes." _

_"Yes, ma'am," Cora corrected with that cringe-worthy grin. "Come, then. The car is waiting." Finally turning to Emma, she reached for the canvas bag. "Regina can carry her own luggage." _

_"I got it," Emma asserted, unafraid of this enigmatic being. She'd had enough jerks for parents to sense one a mile away. Cora was setting off Emma's alarm and she was less than three feet from her. _

_Because they were in public, Cora chose to pick her battles wisely and let Emma hold onto the pack. Besides, she wasn't going to lose her temper at some ignorant child. And, she made a note to herself to teach Regina better. "Very well. Regina dear, let's go." _

_Emma and Regina followed after the seemingly wealthy woman, though not without the rest of the group home watching them intently. From all corners and windows, kids observed as one of their own became part of a family— for real and not just a temporary one. None of them had any idea who this lady was, but none of them cared. Regina was getting adopted._

_With a simple flick of her wrist, Cora motioned to the trunk and Emma got the message. She lifted the back of the black Mercedes and carefully set Regina's bag inside. When she closed it, she lead her best friend to the passenger seat and opened the door for her. Before she got in, though, Regina turned to Emma without warning and hugged her neck tighter than ever. She made sure Emma could breathe, but she that was as loose as she'd allow. The last thing she wanted was to let go. Because, if she did, it would all be over. _

_"Gina, you gotta go. You gotta go to your new home," Emma said stoically. She pried Regina off of her like velcro and made her get in the seat. She even did Regina's seatbelt for her. With the glass rolled down, Emma slammed the door and leaned over the pane just enough to stick her head into the car. "Remember our promise." _

_"I will," Regina vowed through hiccups. "I won't forget. I swear." _

_"It's time to go, Regina," Cora said crisply. And with that, she put the car in reverse and started backing out of the driveway. Emma kept pace with the vehicle until it reached the paved road. Cora did't slow down to let the girls say a proper goodbye. As soon as they were facing the right direction, she accelerated without hesitation. _

_Emma jogged after them as long as she could until the car was too far ahead; she was the only one in the entire home to be on the street. And now that they were gone, she could release the tears that she'd been holding in for a week. "Bye," she said lifelessly._

_When she could no longer spot that annoying blonde girl, Cora smiled that phony smile at Regina, never minding that the teenager was silently bawling herself into hysteria. "Well, now that that's over with, it's time to teach you how to be a proper woman. Lesson number one, Regina: love is weakness."_

* * *

**A/N_ - _**Because I love this story so much, I had to update before I go. But, as I mentioned in "Here's Looking at You, Dear," I move into the dorms on Saturday for a summer program I'm in. As of right now, I have absolutely no clue as to how much time I'll have to write, but I promise, I'll do my very best to update my stories. I will NOT abandon them. Since it's tomorrow, I think this'll be the last update for a while- just until I get my schedule down and I figure everything out. Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews over the last few months. It means so much to know that you all like these stories! I'll be back soon, dearies. Take care, OUaS.


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